Killing time
by breathing is over-rated
Summary: My version of what happened when John is kidnapped in The Great Game. Various Warnings: Swearing, rape, general adult context. M for a reason.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1: Chapter 1**

**AN-** Disclaimer: Still don't own. I know, it's a crime.

Warning: Rape and general nastiness

Enjoy

**Killing Time**

_God, where am I? Uh, my head is killing me._ John finally managed to open his eyes, not that they did any good in the pitch black room. He soon found that he was unable to move, his hands were cuffed to the back of the chair he was sitting on and heavy duty rope wrapped round from his waist to his shoulders. Even his legs were held fast, tied to the chair legs. He rolled his head back and groaned, his shoulder was screaming at him and his leg wasn't too happy either. The soldier tried to struggle out of his bonds, something warm trickled down his wrists into his hands and he stopped. _There's no way out._ At that moment the room was flooded with white light, making John squint. A door opened behind him and his ears were filled with an Irish voice,

'I knew you'd get there sooner or later, Johnny Boy.' John's blood ran cold. 'Of course I know your name, my dear, you and your partner have been after me for quite some time now.' The pieces suddenly clicked into place in John's mind.

'Moriarty.' He croaked through cracked lips. The Irishman gave a small jump of glee, much the same as a small child would.

'Johnny worked something out! Oh, I bet Sherlock would be so proud. He's so worried about you.' The criminal mastermind drew a phone from his pocket and John's eyes widened when he realised the phone belonged to him. A dark chuckle escaped the psychopaths lips as he started to read the texts.

'John, Where are you? SH

John, don't ignore me. SH

I know you're not at Sarah's. SH

John, come back. SH

What have I done to upset you? SH' The phone buzzed to say another text as been received. This was opened and read aloud like the last ones,

'Moriarty, I know you have my John. If anything happens to him I will kill you. SH' The mastermind held the phone to his chest and looked over at John with dead eyes and a lethal smile.

'Well, Johnny Boy, it seems to me that Sherlock just issued me with a challenge.' The phone was thrown carelessly over his shoulder and the Irishman straddled the doctors lap, much to his struggling and yelling. All noise and movement stopped when John felt the cold of a metal blade pressed to the pulse point in his neck. He leaned his head as far away as it could get to the knife and gulped.

'What's wrong, don't you want to play?' Asked the childish voice. The doctor couldn't keep the others gaze.

'Get off me, Moriarty. Please.' He knew it wouldn't work, being nice never does in these circumstances, but at least you couldn't say he didn't try.

'I think we know each other well enough to skip formalities, Johnny. Call me Jim.' The metal bit into his neck, not enough to cause permanent damage, just enough to draw the dark red liquid to the surface. Then the knife was removed and replaced with a pair of lips. The soldier squirmed and desperately tried to escape. Jim bit down hard then withdrew and grabbed the others chin, forcing him to stare into the eyes of his captor.

'Let's make something absolutely clear, yes? You aren't going anywhere until I say so, carry on like this and you won't be going anywhere ever again. Play nice and you might find you enjoy yourself.' He then let go of the doctors chin and returned to nipping and sucking on his neck, revelling in the noises which came unbidden from the soldiers mouth. Jim untucked the blonds' shirt and slid his hands underneath, everywhere he touched tensed and a shiver ran down his doctors' body when his fingers reached his spine. He ran his tongue up to John's ear and nipped the lope gently. The man whimpered beneath him. Moriarty mouth twitched into a smile.

'My, aren't you being good. Good pets get rewards.' John turned his head to look away when he felt hands slide down his trousers, he noticed his belt had been removed. _That bastard must have planned this from the star-_ His train of thought derailed spectacularly as Jim's fingers ghosted over the bulge in his boxers. _What the- when did that happen?_ His thoughts must have been clearly on display because the Irishman chuckled,

'Oh, I don't know, at least ten minutes now.' John tried to back away, he didn't know why because the whole action was pointless. It was as if his body somehow felt better because he was trying to escape.

This stopped when a single finger was placed squarely on his chest. He stared up at his captor, who was now standing, waiting for whatever was next to come.

'Now, what have I told you about being good, hmmm? I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and just say that you're impatient, Johnny Boy, but make sure you don't mess up again.' The finger pushed into his chest, forcing him to rise from the chair slightly, just as his trousers and boxers were pulled down to his ankles in one swift movement. John gasped and the chilling air rushed to meet him. Moriarty drank in the sight of the bound man. Then he fluently bent down and sliced through the rope tying both of John's legs down with the knife he had used on John before. He smiled crookedly at the confused expression on his captives face then lifted the others legs, resting them on his shoulders. The soldier definitely wasn't confused anymore. No, now he was terrified.

'Wha-what are you doing?' The doctor asked, though it was painfully aware that he knew.'Killing time.' Jim replied back-handed as he removed his own trousers and lined himself up, _Of course he hadn't been wearing any underwear. He had planned this you know. _Every muscle in John's body screamed at him to move, to get out of the way, but he held fast and did his best to relax. This was going to happen no matter how much he willed it not to so the only thing he could do was try and ease the pain. Just like that, he was in Afghanistan again, only this time he himself was the patient caught in the midst of fire on the battlefield. White hot pain flashed behind the doctors eyes as the Irishman pushed his full length into his body. A rasping hiss escaped his throat as he tried desperately not to scream.

'No, don't do that.' The voice was eerily sweet and almost caressed the struggling man but then turned sinister, 'I want to hear you scream.' Jim pulled out almost fully then pushed back in. This time, the glorious noise of a man in agony thrashed against his ears, the sound only spurred on the psychopath and he moved faster and faster. Revelling in the different noises he extracted from his captives lips, using his teeth and nails-and occasionally the knife-to mark the soldier where ever he could.

After half an hour of torturous pain, Moriarty finally pulled out and pulled his trousers back on. John's throat was sore to the point of almost bleeding. Something warm trickled down the back of John's legs and he winced, knowing the damage that might have been caused.

'Come on, Johnny Boy, you need to get presentable. Sherlock will be here in about ten minutes.' The thought of the detective spurred the flicker of hope in John's chest alive. He dragged the clothes on and stood shakily. As soon as he was on his feet, two thuggish men appeared beside him and roughly shoved a vest with various wires and boxes strapped to it. A long, frankly hideous, coat was put on him. The vest was heavy but it didn't feel right. John knew from that moment that it wasn't a bomb. An ear piece was placed in his ear then Moriarty grabbed him and turned him towards the psychopath. He ran his eyes over the doctor appraisingly then nodded to the thugs and left the room. John estimated that he still had about four minutes before Sherlock arrived, which gave him time to think. _Even if he does get here and we get out alive, he won't ever want to see me again. If he knew what had happened, he won't be able to even look at me._ The doctor was pushed out of a door onto a poolside, when he looked, he saw Sherlock standing a few metres away from him. His heart leapt in his chest but suddenly dropped again when he heard the Irish accent in his ear. He repeated everything that was said, no point getting killed now just because he wanted to be defiant. The back of his legs were becoming damp with blood and he made sure he was at such an angle that Sherlock couldn't see it. The detective was talking but John couldn't make out a word of what was being said. Then he saw Moriarty. His eyes narrowed, he may not get out of this alive but Sherlock certainly could. He leapt and struggled with the other man. He shouted for Sherlock to run but the man didn't budge. The sniper laser flitted onto the detectives forehead and the doctor stepped back. There was nothing more he could do now. Jim said something and walked out, everything was becoming blurry. Next thing the soldier knew, Sherlock was ridding him of the fake bomb. John let out a shaky breath of relief and said yes to what ever this flatmate had asked him, it was probably 'are you ok?' or something.

* * *

><p>The two turned to leave, John making sure he was at least one step behind Sherlock, when the tannoy system kicked in.<p>

'You didn't really think I'd let you both live, did you? I know you both realised the bomb on Johnny Boy was a fake but neither of you bothered to look up, hmm?' The soldier looked up and saw the explosives positioned at every point necessary to send the entire roof crumbling. Using the last of the strength he had, John threw himself at Sherlock and sent them colliding into the pool. The boom seemed to vibrate the water and debris hit the pool with thundering crashes. The soldier saw his flatmate lying on the cold tiles at the bottom of the bed of water, he swam down, dragged the other man up to the surface and placed him on the poolside as carefully as he could. The taller male was unconscious and John knew the walls wouldn't last much longer so he picked up the other-using strength he didn't know he had-and carried him out of the door, into the cool air, just as a second thundering crash echoed behind him. He placed Sherlock on the floor, suddenly aware of the flashing blue lights and the man with the umbrella walking up to them. John lay on the floor, eyes closing.

'Don't-' He gasped to the man standing over him. 'Tell…Sherlock.' Then his body finally gave out and he slipped into unconsciousness.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Chapter 2**

John's eyes flicked open to find he was lying on a pristine white bed in a hospital ward. He moved his head to the side, wincing as his body screamed not to move, and saw the man with an umbrella standing by the door.

'Good Morning, John.' He said with a posh voice and a polite smile. 'I'm glad to see you're awake.' John tried to speak but his mouth was dry and cracked. The soldier tried to sit but as soon as he moved, pain seared from his groin to every other part of his body. In the pain, he remembered exactly why he was in hospital and looked shakily at man in his room, a question in his eyes.

'No. He doesn't know.' John sighed with relief and tried to relax. _Mycroft_. The doctor wondered why that word had entered his mind, he wasn't even sure it was a word. Then he remembered that the man standing in his room was Mycroft. Sherlock's brother. A twitch of a smile appeared for a second on the government workers face.

'You have been out for nearly four days, Sherlock was let out two days ago but he hasn't left the hospital, he doesn't want to go home without you. He's not been allowed in to see you yet, despite his many attempted break ins. As far as he knows, you suffered some serious internal damage and aren't allowed any visitors.' John nodded, and Mycroft looked concerned, 'I haven't let him find out what happened because you asked me not to. However; he will find out, probably as soon as he see's you, so I will advise you now; tell him.' John was torn. Of course Sherlock would find out, he'd been naïve to think the consulting detective wouldn't. His voice seemed able to cope with talking so he thanked Mycroft who bowed his head slightly and left the room.

* * *

><p>The nurses came in as soon as the man closed the door behind him. Each one had the same sympathetic look on their face. John tried his best ignore them as they checked and redressed his various wounds. Once they had finished, a doctor entered the room and handed John his chart, of course they would know he was a doctor himself. The blond read it and handed it back, there was nothing on it he didn't already know about already.<p>

'Does this mean I can be discharged?' The doctor frowned at him,

'I wouldn't recommend it, but yes, we could give you pain killers and send you home if it is what you wish.' John nodded. 'There's a man who's been waiting to see you, he has been since he was discharged himself.' The soldier paled and the other man seemed to understand this perfectly. 'If you like, we can let you leave without telling him.' John thanked him and waited for them to leave the room so that he could change into his clothes.

* * *

><p>The soldier stepped out into the cold air, the pain killers they had given him were heavy duty and almost completely ridded him of the pain. He felt bad for leaving Sherlock in the hospital but he couldn't face the man after what happen. <em>What would Sherlock think of him? Damaged. Broken. No good. <em>There are many things John has been able to stand, going to Afghanistan was enough to toughen anyone, but he couldn't bare that. The soldier caught a cab back to Baker Street. Once outside, John remembered he didn't have his key. He knocked and was let in by Mrs Hudson who fussed him until he reached his door. The doctor quickly took a pen and scribbled down a note then left it on Sherlock's sofa. It was low but John couldn't tell the consulting detective to his face, he would never leave if he did. He packed his laptop, his phone and a change of clothes in a small bag and left without saying goodbye to the landlady. Once he was out of sight of the flat, he took out his phone and blocked his soon to be ex flatmates number before calling Harry.

'Hello, Johnny? What is it?'

'Uh, I'm in a bit of a situation. Can I kip at yours til I find myself a place?' The silence on the phone was brimming with questions but none of them were actually asked.

'Ok, I'm at home now. How long will you be?' John sighed with relief,

'I'll be about half an hour.'

'Ok, Johnny, see you then.' The line disconnected.

* * *

><p>John had only been to Harry's flat once before, it was a complete tip-John had always been the tidy one in the family. The flat had a spare room which the doctor was given. As soon as he had unpacked his stuff, he switched on his laptop and wrote a letter of resignation then sent it to Sarah. He needed a completely new start. <em>Turning over a new leaf. <em>Once the email had sent, he looked on the job sites and at flats. He hadn't much in his bank accounts so most of the flats were way out of his price range but he found a small one on the edge of London which seemed ok. He made plans to go and see it the next day. There also happened to be a clinic only a block away that was in need of another doctor. John smiled to himself, it seemed as if his clean break would work out ok. He twitched as the pain started to ebb away inside him. The blond doctor stood up slowly and reached for the painkillers in his bag. He walked into the kitchen, wincing slightly, took out a glass then filled it with water. The soldier snapped the tablet in his hand and popped half of it in his mouth, swallowing it down with a gulp of water. The other half was put back in the small box it came in and he allowed a content sigh as the pain subsided again. Harry's head whipped round the corner of the room and she mouthed 'Sherlock' to her brother. John's eyes widened and he silently shook a hand by his neck. Harry nodded then answered.

'Hello, who is this?….Who?….Oh, how's John? He's still not talking to me… He what?…well, that's not like him…No he's not here…Ok, I will.' She turned back to the man in the kitchen when the line disconnected.

'Wow, you must be really pissed off with him for something. Either that or you must be one heartless bastard.' When John didn't answer, she carried on, 'The man is just about having a fit. If I didn't know you, I would have thought he was more than just your flatmate.' John gave her a look and she shut up, as if he needed the extra guilt weighing upon him. He took his glass and went up to the spare room.

* * *

><p>The next morning, John took a quick shower then left with his bag. He didn't need to give his sister a little note, she would know that he was gone from the moment she woke up. John stopped at the bank on his way to check out the flat, he wanted to make sure he actually had the money before he got there. When he asked for the balance of his credit card, his heart jumped. He had just under eighty thousand pounds. He quickly withdrew the card and put it back in his wallet. <em>Mycroft.<em> The soldier smiled as he thought of all the help that man had given him but the uplifting mood was short lived as he remembered that Sherlock would probably be able to trace his card. The doctor decided that he would just have to take that chance, _Perhaps Sherlock will think I moved out for some other reason and just leave me be._ He doubted it.

* * *

><p>The flat was perfect, though he had the money for something better but for some reason he didn't feel like he wanted it. The money in his account wasn't actually his after all and he didn't want to use any if he could get away with it. The landlord, a short stubby man who went by the name of Carl Sanders, seemed like a nice sort of chap, he was thoroughly joyed that someone had wanted to rent the room. John paid him then took the couple of minute walk to the clinic. He handed in his CV to the receptionist who looked at it with raised eyebrows.<p>

'I know, I'm over qualified for the job.' John said with a hint of a smile. The man behind the desk smiled back and pressed the button to call for the doctor. The woman in a casual shirt and black trousers looked at the CV briefly and welcomed him to the team without an interview.

'When can you start?'

'Any time, Sue, I don't have any plans.' The woman smiled genuinely,

'Ok, I'll see you tomorrow morning then. Your shift starts at eight.' John thanked her and walked out. _Well that was easy._

* * *

><p>The sun had already began to set, John really didn't know where the time had gone. His chest started to heave slightly in the walk back due to the quickly returning pain. The river of uncomfort in the back of his mind quickly became a raging torrent of agony. John opened the door and walked up the steps to his new flat, he was too occupied to notice there was someone behind him. A hand rested lightly on the doctor shoulder and he spun round, jumping back with a yell and just stopped himself from punching the landlord. John's eyes widened in shock and he spent the next few minutes apologising. The man laughed and waved away his 'sorrys' and 'are you all rights'.<p>

'It was my fault, I should have known that being a war veteran that you would be more jumpy when it came to people walking up behind you. Don't worry about it, I just wanted to make sure everything was ok.' The soldier nodded and walked into his room. Once he closed the door, the blond slid down the wall and curled up on the floor. _Of course there'd be repercussions, John,_ He told himself, _after what happened to you, how can you expect any different?_ The pain was mind blowing but the doctor couldn't seem to find the strength to get up again. A shrill beep echoed in John's ear and he rooted through his pockets to find his mobile. There were four messages from an unknown number.

**John, Where are you? SH**

**Don't do this to me, John, please come home. SH**

**Mycroft won't talk to me. I know you've blocked my number so I'm using his assistance's phone. SH**

**Why? SH**

John's eyes closed as blocked out the rest of the world. Each moment brought a new wave of agony, though whether it was from his injuries or his heart he didn't know, and he finally slipped into sleep on the cold floor.


	3. Chapter 3 part 1

**Chapter 3: Chapter 3 part 1**

Sunlight broke through the blinds of window and fell on John's face, waking him instantly. He turned onto his side, eye's still closed, and snuggled into the warm figure next to him. An arm wrapped round him and a chin rested lightly on his head, forming a protective bubble the shielded John from the outside world. Everything seemed to be hazy, happy somehow and the doctor smiled. The haze subsided and the soldiers mind slowly began to work again. _How did I get here? I must have been totally out of it. Good thing Sherlock was here to put me to bed. Wait, he doesn't know where-_ Then his eyes flew open and he struggled relentlessly to get free of the person holding him.

'Oh, don't do that Johnny Boy.' The soldier froze. A finger traced swirling patterns on the blonds back and he shivered. He looked round the room to find that he wasn't even in his flat anymore, not that it surprised him much.

'Wha-Why am I here?' There were many questions that wanted to jump from the doctors mouth but he held himself back.

'You're here because I want you to be. You are mine now, Johnny Boy.' The soldier tried to get away again but was stopped by a metallic edge pressing into his back and drawing red circular patterns in his skin. Moriarty sat up but kept the other man lying down.

'I know that having a new owner is a stressful time for pets, getting used to new surrounding and new people and the like. I do hope you calm down soon though, then we can go shopping.' _Shopping? What the fuck is going on here? I can't expect any help from Sherlock, not after the way I left him._ A haunting snigger echoed round the room. 'It's funny you should think that, my pet, it's because you left the detective that I have you now.' Jim rolled the doctor onto his back so that he could look at his captives face. 'If you had still been with Sherlock, I wouldn't have been able to get anywhere near you. Luckily for me, you chose to run. Now you belong to me.' The blade cut into John's abdomen, deeper than the other times, forcing a rasping curse from the soldier. 'And don't you forget it.' The breath caught in John's throat at the sudden change in Jims tone of voice. It was hard to tell what the psychopath was going to do next and that was what scared him most.

* * *

><p>After a few hours of forceful snuggling and cutting flesh, John was allowed off the bed. The few injuries that were bad enough were fixed up and a tight fitting top and skin tight jeans were pressed into the blonds' hands. He was given two minutes to get dressed but Jim didn't leave the room, instead he sat on the edge of the bed and watched which rapt interest as the doctor slid into the clothes. He then gave the man a glass of water and half a tablet, chuckling at the surprised expression.<p>

'We won't enjoy ourselves if you can't walk from the pain, will we?' John took the pill warily then stood waiting for whatever was next to come. Jim clapped with glee, much like a three year old with a new toy,

'Johnny, you're learning!' The criminal mastermind then grabbed the doctors' wrist and dragged him out of the room.

* * *

><p>John soon found out what was meant by 'shopping'. Moriarty had taken him into a very expensive tailors and had him measured for an entire wardrobe and a half of clothes, all chosen by Jim, of course. The doctor didn't even want to think about how much it cost. After the clothes, John was taken into a store he had never seen before, it was still part of the tailors but through a room at the back. Jim left the other man at the door then browsed the shop, apparently looking for something specific. The soldier knew he had found what he was looking for when his eyes lit up and he plucked something from one of the shelves. The consulting criminal then made his way back to the doctor and held up what seemed to be a thick strip of black leather. It took a moment but John finally clicked and blushed slightly. <em>It's a dog collar.<em> Moriarty smiled filthily and closed the gap between the two men then reached and tied the collar round blonds neck, threading the buckle so that the soldier had just enough space to breathe. Jim wrapped his arms round the doctors waist and kissed the corner of his mouth. John's own lips became a thin line and the madman trailed his tongue up to the others ear.

'I wouldn't resist if I were you, Johnny Boy, we both know what happens if you misbehave.' He moved back to the soldiers mouth, which this time opened slightly and allowed Jim's tongue to slid inside. There was no point struggling, so John fought for dominance. _It's not as if I have anything left to lose. _He thought as they tackled each other for an unknown amount of time, before John knew it, he had pinned Jim up against the wall and had his hands placed either side of the Irishman's head. He was nipping the madman's bottom lip when ever he could and tilted his head to get more leverage. The soldier finally came to his senses and back off quickly, utter horror clearly written all over his face. Jim Moriarty pulled him back by the belt loops of his jeans,

'I didn't say you could stop.' The consulting criminal moved back in to reclaim his captives mouth when he phone beeped in his pocket. He sighed and moved away again, taking the mobile out of his clothing. The Irishman answered the call and listened to what the person at the other end of the line was saying then hung up without replying.

'Well, Johnny, it seems that the Holmes brothers don't want to let you go yet. That can soon be sorted. I think it's time we got out of here, phones can be traced easily you know.' John shivered as he was lead out of the room, something was different, he could feel it. Deep in the back of his mind, the doctor knew what the difference was but he wasn't ready to admit it to himself yet.

* * *

><p>After a short car journey, John found himself back at the madman's house. Now he got a proper look at it, he could see it wasn't so much a 'house' as a mansion. The size of it awed him, a hand wrapped round his waist,<p>

'I'm glad you like it, Johnny. We can go for a walk round the gardens later if you behave yourself.' John jerked his head in a half-hearted nod. Jim gave his doctor a nudge and they entered the building. 'Ok, my pet. Since you've been such a good boy, I'm going to let you have some free time. The maid will take you to our room so you can have a shower and put on some of those new clothes, though I do like the image of you in my shirt and jeans.' John's thoughts halted. _They were his clothes?_ It had never occurred to John where the top and jeans that were thrust upon him came from however; now he knew he skin was crawling to be rid of them. The maid gave him a small smile and led the way through the various corridor, seemingly taking the longest route to the destination, and stopped outside a familiar door. John opened it and stepped inside, the door to the on suite was open wide and he walked in, stripping the fabric from his body as if it was infected with every disease know to man. It took a lot of fiddling to finally get the buckle on the collar to release but the soldier did it eventually.

Warm water sprayed over the doctors skin, slowly un-knotting the tense muscles. The world outside seemed to slid away until only the shower cubical was present in John's world. He was calmed by the empty void, at least it was better than acknowledging what was actually happening to him. Finally, John decided that he couldn't spend the rest of his life in the shower, no matter how much he wanted to, so he got out and dried himself. In the bedroom, a new set of clothes lay folded neatly on the bed with the leather collar placed squarely on top. John silently wondered how dead he would be if he threw the strip of leather out the window, or set fire to it, or had it torn into shreds, or- The doctor stopped that train of thought, it was far too dangerous, even for him. The soft shirt fabric hugged the blonds' skin, they made him feel good in an eerie, _Oh God I could die at any moment _sort of way. The collar felt even more strange, it was ok when it was being forced on him. At least then he could feel defiant inside knowing that he would rip it off the first chance he got. Putting it on himself just felt like a surrender, complete with a little white flag.

* * *

><p>Just as John sat down, a polite tap came at the door, <em>Definitely not Moriarty then.<em> It opened and the maid from before stepped through.

'You are requested in the dining hall immediately.' _Translation: Dining hall, now. You have three minutes or you'll get a first class course in GBH._ The doctor followed the woman, all hope had gone for his mind now. He half wanted to make the journey through the house last as long as possible but Jim surely knew how quick it would take him and if he was misbehaving. The door to the dining room was open and John walked inside, trying to retain the minimal amount of dignity he had left. The madman was stood beside a table that could easily seat twenty or more people, his face brightened as soon as he laid eyes on the other man. _That is getting really unnerving, _John thought as he crossed the room.

'Sit, Johnny, sit.' Jim pulled out the chair on the end of the table sat then patted to the one next to him. John took the seat and his hands were captured by the Irishman. 'Ok, Johnny. I have a choice for you to make.' The soldier's eyebrows creased. 'No, no, this one is probably the most important choice you have ever had to make in your life.' John waited patiently and Jim cupped the army veterans' face with his hand, then swiftly stood up and walked to the French window that over looked the largest of the gardens. 'Ok, Johnny Boy. Here's your choice: You can stay here, with me, or you can leave now.'


	4. Chapter 3 part 2

**Chapter 4: Chapter 3 part 2**

'_You can stay here, with me, or you can leave now.'_

John's mind whirred, _I must have heard it wrong… No, I couldn't have, it must be some sort of test. _

'What's the catch?' Jim turned round,

'There is no catch, my pet.' The doctor didn't believe him for a second. 'It's the truth, there is no catch. However; I will say this, think of what has happened today.' He paused, 'Now think about what I could have been doing.' Then John understood. He could leave now, run away from everything, but if he did then more people would die. If he stayed with the madman there was no telling what would happen to him, yes he was in a good mood now but the psychopath changed his mind so frequently and so quickly that anyone standing near him was in danger of getting whiplash. _But what about Sherlock? _The little voice in the back of his head asked quietly.

'What was that note you gave to him? _'Sorry, it was never going to work. Stay out of my life, I don't want you to see me again.' _Yes, I would say that that should be enough to make Holmes feel betrayed by you and you know how he is when people misuse his trust. Just look at him and his brother.' It wasn't surprising the criminal mastermind was reading his mind but the point he made only pushed John further to the edge of depression. The doctor was suddenly aware of the new tone of voice emitting from his captor,

'Well, I've given you quite enough thinking time now. You have one minute to either get out quickly or come and stand beside me. Staying in the chair will result in me treating you as if you tried to escape from me. Make your move.' John stood, scrapping the chair back as he did so. He looked at the open door that was calling him, beckoning him to run through it and never look back. He sighed and made his way to stand beside Moriarty. _God, I must be insane._ He gingerly reached for the other man's hand and took it lightly. Jim smiled. For the first time, John truly believe the expression was genuine. The two men leaned forward til their lips touched, the doctor brought one hand up to the others hair while the other rested on his hip. They broke away from each other too soon for the psychopaths liking but dinner was ready and cook didn't like to be kept waiting.

'We'll finished this later.' He said lowly and took his seat at the table once more.

* * *

><p>The dinner was cooked to perfection, there was nothing John could fault. It wasn't hard to see that Jim was trying to be romantic, it was scary as hell but sweet at the same time. The soldier felt that, given time, he could learn to love this man. After all, by doing so he would save lives. Not just a few like when he was a surgeon, hundreds. Thousands even. All he had to do was be a good pet. The soldier in his mind stared in disbelief. <em>You're just going to stand and take this? That man will kill you.<em>

_They said the same thing about Sherlock._

_Yes but he didn't leave you, did he? _That was a hit below the belt.

'I really do think you should get your subconscious seen to, Johnny, it seems that you are becoming quite the little schizophrenic.'

'Yes, because you're the perfect candidate for commenting on the mental state of others.' John bit back before he could help himself. As soon as he said it he knew he was going to regret it but he didn't know when. Jim's mouth twitched but he didn't reply.

* * *

><p>Once they had finished the meal, the sun had already set and John found himself being lead to the bedroom again. Jim was being surprisingly calm but the soldier knew that it was all a ruse. He had unintentionally insulted the man no fewer than four times over dinner and Jim Moriarty was not one to just let things slide. The blond stepped through the doorframe and was immediately forced onto the bed. His mind still seemed to be at the door and didn't return to him until he heard a clicking above his head. His eyes flicked up to see that his hands were now securely attached to the headboard, his shirt was roughly pulled up to his wrists and fingernails scratched down his chest, making him hiss in pain.<p>

'It seems you need another lesson in how to behave yourself.' The madman whispered as he fiddled with the doctors trousers then dragged them down. John whimpered, he had been given the pain medication every time he needed it so far but he very much doubted he would get it now.

'Correct.' The voice above him hissed. A dark chuckle bounced off the walls, 'But you did bring this upon yourself.' The doctor was powerless as he was once again lined up. He squeezed his eyes shut but nothing happened. After a moment, John carefully opened his eyes to see that Moriarty was staring intently at him.

'You will not look away from me again. Nor will you hold back any noise, I want to hear everything.' The soldier pressed himself against the bed sheets and gripped the bars above his head but kept his eyes level. Jim leant forward and brushed a strand of hair out of the blonds' eyes, 'I do love you, Johnny Boy, you must know that.' Then he pushed himself in completely. Even if he'd wanted to, John wouldn't have been able to hold back the scream. He felt his insides ripping, tearing into tiny pieces, he threw his head back in a last ditch attempt to escape the agony. A set of teeth found his pulse point and bit down with enough force to leave a mark that would last at least a week before moving away again.

'I thought I made it clear that you were not to look away from me.' Once John's full attention was back on the madman he started thrusting hard.

The screaming picked up where it left off and, mixing with his own maniacal laugh, created music in the consulting criminals ear. He would happily give up have his organisation to keep this moment, to buy this record, when he thought about it he realised he already had. From the bedside table, the various blades of metal called to him, each one begging to be used. The sight of blood had always been a turn on for him. Jim stopped thrusting and reached forward, plucking a straight razor and bringing into the doctors line of sight. John shuddered violently, despite his best efforts to remain still.

'You must see blood most days of the week, Dr Watson, but it's slightly different when it's your own, isn't it my dear?' The psychopath drew a relatively shallow line down each arm, beginning at the wrist and ending just past the shoulder. He then turned his blade to trail an edge down the middle of his captives chest. The doctor hissed in pain and looked anywhere other than the bloodied mess of his body. Jim ran his tongue down the redden razor and started to thrust again, quicker than before. He leaned forward, losing control of his carefully calculated rhythm and began cutting, not enough to seriously injure but he was getting close. Jim arched his back and came just has John did the same, that was something that the criminal mastermind didn't expect but he had always had the feeling that the good doctor was indeed a masochist. Jim was a sadist, he could deny many things but never that. Therefore it stood to reason that they made a perfect match. Jim smiled as he reached for he towel and cleaned them both up. _Sherlock, my friend, you have missed out._


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 5: Chapter 4**

_John. Oh John. Why?_ After just under eighteen hours of constant sobbing, Sherlock found that he couldn't cry anymore. He had only just got used to his ever opening emotions when his doctor was first taken away from him. God, he felt so stupid, crying was a complete waste of bodily fluid and gave him a terrible headache. John would call it '_a cruel twist of fate'_ but Sherlock had never believed in such things. When he saw John strapped into the bomb, he knew it was a fake but the voice in his head kept chanting _What if?_ That was all it took to unnerve him beyond anything else in the world.

He woke up in hospital, John wasn't there. Sherlock's heart did something strange every time he dragged up the memory. The utter fear that had gripped him still sent aftershocks causing through his system. As soon as he was able, the detective had gone in search of John. What he found was Mycroft and a well crafted story about his flatmate having internal injuries that stopped him from having visitors. Sherlock didn't leave the hospital, he couldn't. Every doctor that he came across told him to go home and his reply was that he had lost his home a few days ago and now he was trying to find it again. That statement nearly got him sectioned, his brother had stepped in and put his actions down to a 'traumatic experience and extreme stress', the doctors seemed to take this as a reasonable explanation and dropped the subject. The next time a doctor spoke to Sherlock, it was to tell him that John had left the day before. The consulting detective had ran out of the building with a speed to rival Usain Bolt.

221b Baker Street, the consulting detective couldn't get there fast enough. He knew that was where John would go but the fact that he left without telling the one he loved showed that something bad had happened. Sherlock just wished he knew what it was. Once inside, he ran past Mrs Hudson and almost pulled the door off it's hinges in his haste to get inside.

* * *

><p>The flat was empty. John had been there, his laptop was missing, but he wasn't there now. Sherlock moved to his sofa and found a small note placed squarely on the seat cushion. The detective picked the piece of paper up and read the note to himself, annotating each word and every possible meaning in his mind.<p>

**Sorry, it was never going to work. Stay out of my life, I don't want you to see me again.** The last part caught Sherlock's interest. John had put _'I don't want you to see me again.' _but the usual sentence was _'I don't want to see you again.' _Most people would just see it as another way to say the same thing but the detective knew differently. It meant that John still wanted him! So what could Moriarty have possible said or done to make the doctor-a usually steadfast man-truly believe that the only way was to cut all ties with everything he knew? Sherlock slumped onto the sofa and cast his eyes round the room, looking for anything that could say where he had gone. The skull stared at him as if trying to tell him something. _Wait, I placed the skull so it faced John's chair not my sofa._ He got up and made his way over to the skull, picking it up to find a small memory stick.

* * *

><p>The five minutes it took to extract the video from the memory stick to his computer was five minutes too long. Sherlock clicked the play button and turned up the sound. His eye's narrowed as Jim Moriarty appeared on the screen,<p>

'_My my, Sherlock. Did you have a lovers tiff or just a breakdown in communication? Don't bother answering, I can't hear you after all. So, anyway, you can deduce that Johnny Boy has left. But only one of us knows why. _Sherlock looked at the suggestive expression on the consulting criminals face. _No._ He wouldn't believe it. Moriarty was a psychopathic criminal mastermind who attached bombs to people for fun. But he wouldn't do that. He wouldn't do that.

_I guess you've figured it out now, it took you long enough. Anyway, John is mine. If you so much as __**try**__ to take him away from me, I will make the short remainder of his days a living hell. If in the highly unlikely event that you succeed, know this, I will kill anyone who I believe is involved. Painfully. Ask yourself this, detective, is he worth everyone you know? _Sherlock's heart skipped a beat. John was everything to him. But he couldn't risk the death of everyone he knew, could he? Some of them he would happily shoot himself yet there were a few with whom he had become close. People die everyday, he told himself. The voice in his head screamed and raged round his mind,

_You can't let him go! He trusted you! _

_Not enough to let me in._

_He's stupid, like the rest of them. He didn't trust himself._

_Go away._

_You need to help him._

_I said GO AWAY! _The mobile in the detectives pocket rang and he answered,

'Sherlock, I'm so sorry, I-'Sherlock interrupted,

'You knew. You knew and you didn't tell me.'

'Brother listen to me-'

'No, you listen to me. John, My John, was raped by that fucking psychopath and you thought it would be ok to just let him go?'

'I didn't think-'

'No, you didn't. Seriously, Mycroft, what did you think would happen? That he would just find me and tell me straight? He thinks I'll only ever see Moriarty when I look at him and you could see that when you saw him in the hospital, don't give me that bullshit that you didn't see him because I know you did. You had better find him or so help me-' Sherlock's voice lost its rage and became softer, 'I can't live without him, Mycroft, I just can't.' Both brothers lapsed into silence until Mycroft spoke.

'Ok. Ok, I'll find him. Just don't do anything stupid until then.' The tears started again,

'Thank you.' His mind said but the words never reached his lips. Instead, he ended the call and threw the phone across the room. The detective held his head in his hands as he broke down again.

'Sherlock, you can't stay like this. You must eat, starving yourself won't bring John back, my dear.' Mrs Hudson tried to coax the man into eating the sandwiches she had made earlier for him. Sherlock didn't budge, refusing to even look at her. The old woman took pride in being sympathetic and showing understand for people, especially those like Sherlock, but there was only so much the landlady could handle.

'Sherlock, pull yourself together. What would John say if he saw you acting this way? I would bet all my savings that he'd hold you down and force-feed you. So man up. You are the most amazing, intelligent person I have ever met. If you can't find him, who will?' The consulting detective looked at the woman curiously and she nodded her head, knowing her work was done. The flame behind Sherlock's eyes flicked then roared to life as he jumped up. _I will find John. I will. And when I get my hands on Moriarty-_His mind split off into every cruel, unusual and excruciating death he had catalogued over the years. The detective switched on the laptop and brought up every map of London he could find. Jim wouldn't leave London, especially not if he had John. It would be a large house or a mansion, relatively isolated but close to a main road-the man liked his privacy but he needed a main road for quick escapes.

* * *

><p>Once Sherlock had finished narrowing down the various locations he texted the address to Mycroft and shrugged into his coat.<p>

'Bye, Mrs Hudson.' He yelled as he slammed the door to the flat closed and stepped into the already waiting car sent by his brother. Mycroft kept a steady gaze directed at his brother, carefully taking into account every feature. The adrenaline spiked in Sherlock's system as the car sped through the night. Every waking moment brought him closer to John, closer to home.

The car finally pulled up just outside the grounds of the mansion, well hidden guard towers overlooked every angle. Sherlock sighed and pulled out the taser, killing the guards would cause a commotion, also, he had forgotten to bring the gun with his silencer. The detective nodded to his brother then sneaked towards the first guard tower, climbing up the wall with ease and stepping over the barrier. A few seconds later, the man climbed back down and repeated the process with every tower that surrounded the building.

Soon all the guards had been taken care of and Sherlock gestured silently to his brother who stepped out and followed the detective to the mansion. The crept down the garden til they were just in front of some French doors. Moriarty stood, facing the garden and Sherlock thought for a moment that they had been see, but no. Not yet, at least. There was someone else in the room but it was to dark to make out who until the man finally came to stand beside the psychopath. _John_. It took every ounce of self-control Sherlock had not to show himself there and then. His heart turned to stone and sank to his gut as he saw the two men bring their faces together. John seemed ridged, unwilling, but he had instigated the kiss. _What is going on here?_ The detective tried desperately to piece together the mystery but nothing seemed to fit. The two men left the window and began dinner, the younger Holmes crept forward so that he was now just to the right of the window, barely out of sight. Moriarty kept tensing, _John, what are you doing? Don't you know better than to antagonise him?_

After the men had eaten and left the room, Sherlock tried the French window, to his utter surprise, it opened. He and Mycroft slinked inside, quietly closing their entrance behind them. It was obvious where the men had gone, it only took a glance at the way they walked out of the room to see but they were too late to stop that from happening. John would just have to hold on a little longer. Sherlock was in inspecting the table when the door to the rest of the house opened.

Sherlock froze, there was nowhere to hide. The door opened all the way and a petite woman in a black dress skittered in then stopped suddenly with a sharp intake of breath. She looked at him then sighed,

'Thank God. You're Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes?' The detective hesitated. 'No, it's ok. John sleeptalks. Come quickly, I'll show you where they are.' Sherlock looked at the maid sceptically.

'Why should I trust you?'

'You shouldn't. But I need to get out of here. If getting John out gets me out too then I'll do it.' Mycroft stepped in,

'Who said anything about getting you out?' The woman cast a hardened gaze across the elder Holmes brother,

'I never said alive.' Sherlock blinked and the maid gave a sad smile,

'No, I've tried everything. Wrong food, being late, swearing, insulting him. He won't have me killed, punished severely-yes, killed-no. I can't even jump from the roof, they have this.. uh, I don't even know what it is but it stops us getting any further than the door to the roof. It's like a compulsion. If I'm having suicidal thoughts, I can't even open a window.' The consulting detective nodded and gestured for her to lead the way, his arm was grabbed by Mycroft,

'What do you think you are doing?' He hissed.

'I will take to any means possible to get John back, don't act like you know what this is like. You could never know.' He spat back then followed the maid out into the corridor. After a moments consideration, the elder Holmes entered to corridor as well, mentally picturing every way in which this-doesn't even deserve to be called-plan of his younger brother's creation could go wrong.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 6: Chapter 5**

The only sound in the room was the doctor's steady breathing, Moriarty had thankfully left for the meantime. The room was black as pitch, the blinds were closed so that no light could enter. John knew he should sleep, it could be the only chance he'd get for a while, but he couldn't. His gut instinct was telling him to stay awake. To hold on. It was a bitter hope but John couldn't let it go. Soft footsteps sounded outside and he tensed slightly. _So much for sleep._ He then noticed that there were three pairs of feet walking outside. His eyebrows creased with confusion, Moriarty had so far only had one maid with him-the same one each time-and also the way the people were walking was wrong. It didn't sound like Moriarty's at all. It sounded more like a group sneaking around. _A burglar then maybe. _This thought was cast aside, it would take more than a bog standard burglar to get into the mansion. He heard the soft click of someone turning the door handle and his thoughts became blank before he could think of any other possible explanation.

Light spilled into the room, forcing him to look away. He squinted and looked back to the door. The maid from before stepped in and immediately went for the robe which hung from the door to the bathroom. When the next figure entered, John knew he was dreaming. The robe was forced onto his shoulders and the belt tied round his front. The tall figure of Sherlock Holmes took his chin and brought him for a lasting kiss. John didn't kiss back, there was no point kissing a figment of his imagination, this seemed to draw a broken look from the detective. The soldier was then lifted from the bed and carried bridal style by his flatmate. John didn't fight or struggle, he closed his eyes and waited for the inevitable end to this hallucination. It wouldn't be the first on he had had to suffer.

* * *

><p>Sherlock felt something inside him break when he saw John. There was no fight left in the man, in fact, he was nothing more than a hollow shell. Though the detective resented harming his doctor in any way, he eventually had to let Mycroft sedate the man because of his constant talking, not much louder than a mumble but loud enough to be noticed. Sherlock doubted his flatmate even knew he was doing it, the soldier seemed to be completely free of all aspects of reality, but they had to get him out. By any means possible. The group made their way back through the house. Unfortunately, the only exit the Holmes brothers knew was open was the French window that they had came through. But the fact that it was open then didn't have any bearing on whether or not it was open now. Thinking about it, this hadn't been one of their best plans.<p>

Everything seemed to go without incident until the four got to the door to the dining room. Moriarty stood by the French doors, looking out to the gardens, the pale moon illuminated his face and gave his calm expression an eerie glow. Sherlock froze and looked to the maid to see what other exits there were. She caught his gaze and skittered down the corridor and beckoned them to follow her. They weaved through hallways and passages until they came to a staff exit in the kitchen. From somewhere close by, sirens rang shrilly. Mycroft looked to where the sound was coming from.

'The guards from the towers.' He whispered. The maid nodded, the sound of pounding feet echoed round the room. The woman opened the door and pushed the men out, closing it again just as the door that lead to the rest of the house opened. The Holmes brothers didn't think, they just ran. Gunshots resounded in the air around them, only making the men run faster. The car had thankfully not been found yet and Mycroft opened the door for Sherlock to place the doctor inside. The elder Holmes then let himself into the drivers seat and started the car.

* * *

><p>Sherlock didn't relax until he had John safely in the car, strapped in next to him, and they were driving away. The detective laced his fingers through the blond hair of his flatmate, watching the slight rise and fall of the other mans chest. He didn't even notice the car had stopped until the door opened. When he looked, the man realised that they weren't back at Baker Street. Instead, they had been driven back to the Holmes manor house. A house which, as it happened, had a fully functioning hospital ward complete with nurses and a surgeon on standby. For the first time in days, Sherlock's smile slightly resembled something genuine. John was taken on a stretcher into the ward where he was seen to by the best Britain had to offer. But that didn't stop the detective's worries. He paced the corridors until his feet were numb, then he took out a cigarette.<p>

_I thought you'd quit? Oh just shut up. _He had enough problems to deal with without that voice making them worse. No matter how much he tried, Sherlock couldn't get rid of the image of the way John had looked when they found him. He was broken. But it wasn't something that any amount of doctors could fix. The doctor, his doctor, _his John, _was broken inside and that was something that wasn't easy to mend.

* * *

><p><strong>AN- <strong>This chapter's slightly shorter than the others, sorry about that. How's the story going for everyone? Please reviewThanks ;)

B  
>x<p> 


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 7: Chapter 6**

For the first time in days, John drifted back to consciousness without the aches and pains he was becoming used to. The room round him was pure white and the bright lights above him made everything blurred. From somewhere close by, the steady beeping of a machine laced his consciousness. A figured walked into the room, it looked Sherlock shaped but John knew that it wasn't his detective.

'John. Oh John.' The voice sobbed. The soldier gritted his teeth. It seemed his subconscious hadn't finished messing with him yet. 'I'm so sorry, John. Please, don't do this to me.' The figment had all but collapsed onto the side of the bed. This was different to the rest of his hallucinations. Usually Sherlock was telling him how stupid he'd been and how he couldn't stand the sight of him anymore. The doctor sighed, _It seems that even my subconscious is failing, I can't even imagine Sherlock properly anymore._

The room became clearer and John could tell he was in a hospital ward. Private. It almost looked real, apart from the man sobbing on the end of his bed. The door opened again and the elder Holmes walked in and lifted his brother up. Once he was on his feet, Sherlock moved up and carefully took the soldiers hand,

'Get better, John. Get better then come back to me.' The detective was staring right through the soldiers eyes, straight into his core. Something sparked inside and the blonds mouth twitched into an upward curve. _I can create a mental image of how I see Sherlock but I could never replicate that look. _John squeezed the hand that held his, Sherlock's face lit up, though it was still red and blotchy from hours of sobbing. The doctor tried to speak but his voice seemed to have disconnected from his brain. He opened his mouth anyway and a finger pressed the lips together again.

'Hush,' The voice was soft, 'Don't speak, just rest. We can talk later.' The figure withdrew and panic spread through John like wildfire.

'Don't leave me.' He managed to grate out. The detective stopped in his tracks and pulled a chair to the bed. He retook the hand,

'Never.'

* * *

><p>Mycroft left the two men in the room and made his way to the main office. He had to make sure all the security was up to scratch. Everything was fire-walled again and the guards were doubled. Everyone's background was checked again, even those who had worked for the Holmes family their whole life, for there were a few who had. He sent out security alerts for Moriarty's mansion even though he knew the man wouldn't be there anymore.<p>

Once everything had been taken care of, the elder Holmes leant back and started to run over the events of the past days. John had been in a drug induced coma for two days and Sherlock had only left the room to eat and go to the bathroom. This behaviour was something Mycroft had never seen in his brother. To most of the world it would be swept under the 'love' carpet but that wasn't it. Sherlock was indeed a sociopath, their form of love was completely different to the rest of the population, so he supposed it was love in a sense, It just meant that Sherlock would never be able to let go of John. He was already obsessed with the man and did just about everything he was told. He took everything the doctor said as gospel and was in tune with everything his flatmate did. If this was allowed to continue, it would only get worse. Then there was the fact that, even though John had only been awake an hour, he had developed a separation complex. It seemed that he couldn't be without Sherlock. That would only fuel his brothers condition. They would feed each others obsessions until something broke. Then all hell would break lose. Mycroft sighed. It would have been a better idea to have taken a special unit squad because of the status of Moriarty and the fact that he was in the mansion at the time, but doing that would have made the possibility of John's death so much more likely. Sadly, he couldn't have kept that information from his brother, their relationship was a crumbling ground as it was, to keep something like that from the detective would have been catastrophic. Still, it was impossible for the elder Holmes not to think about all the ways that night could have gone.

* * *

><p>John had only being awake for a few hours but he was sitting up and, for want of a better word, eating. Sherlock had not left his side since he'd awoken, he'd even eaten every time his flatmate did. Though it was because John didn't trust anything anymore, he eyed each piece of food like it was coated in acid. The detective ended up ordering one plate of food. He would eat one piece of whatever was on the plate then he spoon fed John from the same plate. This seemed to work and John was beginning to brighten up. Sherlock knew that it would take at least six weeks for his physical injuries to heal completely. The psychological injuries had only just begin to show themselves. He had some sort of separation anxiety, had so little trust it was scary and he now jumped at every movement. He was beginning to become paranoid and Sherlock knew that this would only be the start of what was to come. The worst part was the detective couldn't do anything to help his friend. He could only sit and watch the torment.<p>

That night, screaming filled various rooms and echoed down the corridors. Mycroft, followed by several guards, ran into the ward. Sherlock was sat holding a cold compress to John's forehead, trying to gently wake his friend. The man in the bed was thrashing around and all but tearing his vocal cords with what had to be the most inhuman sound Mycroft had heard for many years. Finally, the soldier opened his eyes and grabbed the younger Holmes. For a moment, the guards thought they were going to have to subdue the doctor but they soon realised that he was sobbing into the detectives chest. Sherlock flicked his head round to his older brother, pure fear poured from his eyes. It was an expression Mycroft had not seen since Sherlock was six and father was on his death bed. He looked so vulnerable. In that instance, the elder Holmes knew that he had two casualties under his roof. Both needed to live or neither of them would.

* * *

><p>The next day, John was out of the bed. Not because he was allowed to but because he was a surprisingly bad patient, worse than Sherlock even. He didn't listen to anything the nurses or the doctors said. The detective decided it would be best for them to get him out of the ward. He would still feel like he was dreaming if he only saw one room. The two men wandered through the various rooms, in Moriarty's mansion John had only seen a couple of the rooms so Sherlock wanted to make sure he knew this was completely different. It seemed that every living soul in the house a heard the commotion from the night before, no matter where the two went, there was a sympathetic glance from somewhere. The detective gritted his teeth, <em>How do they expect him to heal mentally when he thinks every thinks he's incompetent?<em> Sherlock knew from personal experience that that did wonders for a persons psyche. John made his own cup of tea and one for Sherlock too. Though the detective wanted to wrap his partner in a plastic bubble and hide him away from the world, to make sure that know harm ever came to the doctor ever again, he knew that for John to get better he need to get back into normality. It would be better if they were back in Baker Street but beggars can't be choosers.

Throughout the day, the detective and his doctor were never more than a metre away from each other. To the outside world, it was cute and clear the two loved each other. To Mycroft, it was worrying and proof that, mentally at least, his brother and soon to be brother in law-though said person didn't know that yet-were only getting worse. Sherlock was becoming more and more restless as the day dragged on. He need something to occupy his mind. Mycroft called DI Lestrade,

'Hello? Mycroft? How are they?' The elder Holmes felt some of the knotting tension release. Only The DI's-and mummy's- voice could do that to him

'They're alive. I need some cold cases, preferably the hardest ones you have.' There was a slight pause as Lestrade picked through what had been said,

'That bad? Ok, I'll send some round.'

'No, just get them ready, Athena will be round to pick them up in about ten minutes.' They exchanged a small amount of small talk before disconnecting.

'You know, you should tell him how you feel.' The elder Holmes jumped and turned to the door to see his brother with John standing behind him looking thoroughly on edge.

'Yes, perhaps I will but now is not the time.' Sherlock scoffed,

'And it never will be. Go for it.' The detective turned and hugged his doctor, pulling him as close as physically possible. 'Oh, and I don't need any cold cases, thank you. I'm fine.' The elder Holmes watched his younger brother carefully for a second,

'You do. Can you remember the last time you went two weeks without doing anything to stimulate your mind? You nearly blew up a block of flats-which would have killed twenty seven people-you then went on to pick pocket ten of the worlds most powerful people, taunt every DI in the country and nearly land yourself in prison for life. Forgive me for not wanting to have to go through that again.' The look on John's face was a picture, he obviously had had no idea about this because he was in a pure state of shock. Sherlock was looking down at the floor,

'It was only twenty six people.' He mumbled in a voice that showed he had been beaten.

* * *

><p>Twenty minutes had passed before Mycroft's assistant returned with the cold case files. The detective eyed them for a few minutes before giving in and accepting them. He sat on the bed with John's head in his lap. With the doctor peacefully resting, he had time to indulge his mind. Out of the ten cases he had been given, eight of them were easy to the point were he had solved them in under five minutes. The last two, however, intrigued him. There was no foreseeable motive, no method of how the killer got in and, most importantly, no murder suspects. Sherlock read through the case files with rapt interest, picking out every detail he could. Suddenly, his eyes became aware of the message forming.<p>

**Hello, detective, having fun? Would you boys like to pop round sometime? I am missing my pet so much. M**

* * *

><p><strong>AN-<strong>Hey readers, I'm so sorry but I probably won't be able to load the next chapter for a few weeks now. I'll try but we all know how life tends to look at what we doing and say 'Hehehe, don't think so.' Well, it does for me, anyway.

Bx


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 8: Chapter 7**

_**Hello, detective, having fun? Would you boys like to pop round sometime? I am missing my pet so much. M**_

Sherlock didn't think, he just yelled for Mycroft. The elder Holmes was at the door with a selection of guards before the doctor could begin to realise what was happening. The detective handed his brother the phone wordlessly and stared at him with a vulnerable hint in his eye, the way he did when the two Holmes were young and he had gotten himself into some sort of problem. It was the broken look of hope, one that dared to think; _Mycroft can fix this._

* * *

><p>The doctor tried to make sense of what was happening, Sherlock was busy pacing the bedroom floor, but never took his eyes off the bed where his partner lay. The man hardly even blinked, it was as if he was afraid that the soldier would be snatched from him the moment he looked away. John's mind suddenly became clear. <em>Moriarty.<em> The man had somehow found a way to torment them both, even after he thought they were over the worst. John cleared his throat, an action which quickly gained the acquired attention,

'What's happened?' The question was barely more than a whisper but the doctor made sure that the look in his eyes showed that he knew who was the problem. Sherlock quickly climbed into the bed beside his partner, holding him close,

'He sent a text. He knows my number. He knows where we are. Mycroft's doing all he can but it won't be enough, it never could be. I can't bare to lose you again.' Somehow, the detective managed to keep his voice from cracking, but it was perilously close. His mind was fractured, nothing seemed to work properly. The solution to his problem was simple, the way to get it was not. Sneaking drugs past his brother was something he'd been doing for decades but his brother wasn't a doctor and didn't know for certain whether or not he was high on something illegal. The detective instinctively gripped his partner tighter. _John would know. He'd know and he'd never forgive me_. A voice broke through his fogged mind,

'It's no use. He'll find us eventually.' There was a pause, muscles tensed under the younger Holmes fingers, _He's steeling himself for something._

'You should give me up, Sherlock. Yes, he'll be angry but he'll take it out on me and you can go back to what you do.' Sherlock blinked, not quite understanding what had just been said, a first for him. The soldier turned round so he faced the taller man,

'I mean it Sherlock, I'm not good for you. Look at me, for God's sake, I've only hindered you and been used against you. People need you Sherlock.' The detective pulled his partner on to him,

'But I need _you_, John.' The baritone voice was quiet, it's owner did not want to have this conversation. Ever. John found himself suddenly cradled on the detectives lap, the arms holding him were shaking ever so slightly and he was pressed as close to the other man as humanly possible.

'Don't ever say anything like that again, John.' The doctor opened his mouth to speak but was cut of, 'No, listen. I don't want you to ever think like that. You are mine, not his, and I will not give you up-are you listening?-Even if it means that I have to keep you in my sight for the rest of my life, I will not let him take you away from me.' At this, the doctor pulled away abruptly. Sherlock tried to follow but the panicked man pushed him away and tried to calm himself.

'What is it? What's wrong? Talk to me, John. Please?' The detective didn't move closer but he made sure that he could reach the other if needs must. The soldier calmed himself down enough to speak and looked Sherlock dead in the eye.

'For a moment there, you sounded exactly like him.'

* * *

><p>Mycroft watched the bedroom on the monitor, he had stationed guards outside every entrance to the manor and outside his brother's bedroom, just to be safe. But even he couldn't protect the men from themselves. The elder Holmes had taken the liberty of not installing microphones into the room, which meant he had to rely on lip reading to find out what the cause of the problem was. He sighed as he watched the soldier press himself as far into the wall as he could, as far away from the other man as possible. Sherlock had obviously shown him the full force of his possessiveness. The likes of which, there was only other place where the soldier would have witnessed it, with Moriarty. For one of the worlds top mastermind, Sherlock could be monumentally stupid at times. It was enough for the elder Holmes to wonder if they were actually related.<p>

Since the first text, Mycroft had taken his brothers phone. Of course Moriarty knew Sherlock's number, if he didn't know it before then he could have easily taken it from John's mobile. What was intriguing was how he seemed to know who was in possession of said phone. The mobile had received three new texts now, a beep signalled a forth. Mycroft finally picked up the phone and flicked through the messages;

**What's wrong, don't want to play anymore? Shame, I really enjoyed last time. M**

**Dear Mycroft Holmes, I know you have darling Sherlock's phone, if you would be so kind as to give it back I would be much obliged. Xx M**

**I didn't think that would work but you can't blame a guy for trying. Just remember, I do know exactly where you are. How long to you think it will be, Mr Holmes? How long before I reclaim my prize? You know you can't hold him forever. Hand John Watson over to me within the next three hours and I will not harm any of your family for the remainder of this year. M**

**Two hours, Mr Holmes. Tick Tock. M**

Mycroft never had much time for terrorist threats, he was the one who dealt with the big fish. If it were up to him, there would be no terrorists left because he would have had them slaughtered years ago. This time, however; was the first were he took time to go through his options. Giving up Dr. Watson was the better move. It would give them the best part of a year to plan their counter and bring Moriarty down but it was a plan that Sherlock would never agree to, whether his partner did or not. Every scenario plotted itself in the elder Holmes mind, none of them seemed to be the best cause of action. In fact, it seemed that they were very much losing the battle. Athena enter the room and Mycroft quickly put the phone away, he could think about the plan later. What he needed to do now was to pick up the pieces that he brother had so kindly spread along the bedroom floor.

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><p>'John, I am so sorry. You know I'm not like him. Please, believe me John.' The detective still kept his distance, desperately trying to fix the mess he had caused but the doctor wasn't having any of it. He had regained a small amount of his composure but still remained with his back against the wall, as far away from the other man as the room would allow.<p>

'How do I know, Sherlock? Hmm? How do I know? I don't. That's the problem. You could be working with that psycho-' Mycroft enter the room swiftly as to not attract attention to himself. '-You're brother could be part of his little organisation. For all I know, you two might be about to cart me off back to him any second.' For a split second, Mycroft thought the doctor knew of his plans. Through sheer willpower, he forced his expression to remain emotionless. _Dr Watson just had a lucky guess. That's all. A very lucky guess._ Sherlock was close to tears, his newfound emotions threatening to get the better of him. The frustration was evident in everything he said,

'No, John. Never. I would never-' He was cut off sharply by the soldier,

'I don't want to hear it Sherlock. I'm going for a walk. Don't you dare follow me.' The detective moved forward to gasp his arm. The limb was swiftly pulled out of his reach,

'Don't touch me.' The doctor hissed with venom. The force of the words knocked the detective into a frozen position as his partner stormed out of the room. The elder Holmes did nothing to stop the raging man, he knew that anything he did would only worsen the fury. After the door slammed closed, Mycroft turned his attention back to his brother, who was still frozen in the same stance as before. He placed a gentle hand on the mans shoulder.

'We'll fix him.' The voice was quiet, he doubted the detective could stand for anything harsh or loud at the present time. The other man turned to him,

'_I_ will fix him. _You_ will stay away. I know what your plan was, _dear brother_ and I have a feeling that he did too. No wonder he's scared shitless of me. I'm related to a monster like you.' The detective growled and donned his coat. 'I'm going to finish this now, you will not stop me, Mycroft.' The government official sighed, he had been so closed to finishing the bridge between him and his brother but, as always, there was a storm waiting patiently to tear in down again.

A second later, the door slammed again and the elder Holmes was alone in the bedroom. From the tree branch that hung under the windowsill of the room a bird sang sweetly. It was as if the entire outside world was trying to make up for the anger which seemed to seep from the house into the surrounding area. His eyes wandered to the garden. No matter what happened, or who wins this war they're in, the world would continue on regardless. Mycroft sighed, the bigger picture was always his forte, not his brothers. A small beep from the phone in the elder Holmes pocket alerted him to the CCTV. He watched as his brother took out an array of weaponry from a small room, who's whereabouts was known only by the Holmes family, and turned to stick his jacks up at the camera before walking out again. The detective was an entirely different man to the one who had stood broken before him hours early. It wasn't that he was no longer broken. No, he was now unhinged as well. A dangerous combination for most of the population but a lethal one for the younger Holmes brother. Mycroft made the necessary arrangements for the guards to stand down and let the man through,_ he would have found his way out anyway and would have most likely injured himself in he process_. Better to let him think he had gotten away now, then have him tailed and intercept him later. A few more clicks and the phone was put away again. The elder Holmes finally exited the room, he no longer had a reason to be there and other, more important-as in fate of Britain-issues were currently on his mind.

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><p><strong>AN-<strong> Please don't hate me but I won't be able to upload again for quite some time *winces and waits for thrown objects*Hypothetical hugs and my eternal love for those who review :)

Bx


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 9: Chapter 8**

Sherlock ran down the gravelled paths and onto the main street. His head was a blur of all tortures he could inflict on the psychopath without killing him. Then what was the most painfully, lengthy way to finally force his existence from the world. He didn't know where he was going but he knew it didn't matter. Moriarty was watching him from up on his high perch and it would only take a matter of time before he swooped down to gloat. Then the detective would pounce. With John safe in the Holmes manor grounds, he had no worries about snipers or any other tricks Moriarty might try to pull. Sherlock found he had wandered onto a high street. He made his way through the sudden masses of people to get to a exit. There was no chance of a meeting round so many people. Finally he got to a adjacent road that lead to a row of abandoned warehouses. Sherlock's mouth twitched into a grim perception smile. _Perfect._

A black car smoothly followed the detective as he made his way down the road. Inside, a few of Mycroft's most trusted men sat, staring intently out of the window. They had one objective: keep the younger Holmes brother alive. If they failed… The consequences were too gruesome to think about. As the target neared the row of warehouses, one of the men quickly brought up the CCTV inside. Everything appeared normal on each screen.

'Target has entered warehouse 8.' Came a quick call from one looking out the window. The man watching the screen furrowed his eyebrows.

'I can't see him. He's not on CCTV.' It took a moment but something clicked in each mans head at the same time.

_Oh fuck._

* * *

><p>The warehouse was dark except for the rays of light which burst forward from the open door. Sherlock scanned the room for any sign of existence but couldn't find anything. Something in the back of his mind called out to him as he walked further into the open space. <em>Dust. <em>The detective instinctively looked down. The concrete floor was clean. But the rest of the warehouse showed that it had been abandoned. From somewhere up ahead, a pair of hands clapped slowly.

'Well done, Sherlock. Well done.' The lights flickered into life overhead, but they only light the small section f the room surrounding the Irishman and the younger Holmes brother. Moriarty walked down to stand just a few metres away from the detective. Sherlock pointed the gun straight at the psycho's chest but the man only looked bored.

'Shirley, my dear, put that down. You're going to hurt someone.' Sherlock growled and cocked the gun. 'And by hurt someone I don't mean me.' Suddenly the rest of the lights flickered on to reveal a battered and broken Dr Watson strapped to a wooden chair with four high powered weapons aimed at his head. Sherlock's heart froze and his veins each iced up in turn. Jim Moriarty chuckled,

'Now, throw that gun away. We can't have Johnny boy put through any more pain, can we?' The gun was flying out of the detectives hands before the consulting criminal had even finished his sentence.

'Why.' The detective couldn't help but ask his most burning question. Jim's smile became tight lipped before he answered,

'Why? Because I had him. He was mine. But you couldn't just admit defeat, could you? No, you had to go and steal him away from me under my nose.' The anger that had flashed through his eyes seemed to vanish in a instant and was replaced with a inferior glance, 'Anyway, the fact of the matter is that if I don't get him, neither do you. I would much rather seem him as a corpse than see him by your side again.' What ever colour had previous been in Johns face had since drained away as he listened to the conversation. Sherlock noted that the soldier was holding out okay for the moment but didn't seem to be able to cope for much longer under the stress.

'Let him go.' The detective pleaded. Moriarty didn't even pretend to think.

'No.' Gunshots rang from outside, causing Sherlock to jump and twist round to the door. Moriarty's phone beeped once. He took in out of his pocket and skimmed the text before looking back at the younger Holmes brother with a twisted Cheshire cat smile,

'It seems that your brother had you tailed here. Not that it matters now as they have been terminated.' Sherlock tried to steady his breathing. Jim chuckled darkly, 'Oh, don't worry. Mycroft wasn't in the car with them. My crew know enough not to kill someone with that much power over you. After all, see how you dance when I bring a little doctor into the mix.' The detective could only watched as something slipped away in his doctors eyes til they were left hollow, devoid of all emotion,

'Sherlock, leave. Now.' The voice was rasping but still brimmed with a drill sergeants resolve. Jim's smile only grew as he watched the torment in the only rival he had ever had's eyes.

'John-' There was that pleading voice again, the one lined with a thousand pieces of a shattered heart. It was music in the criminal masterminds ears.

'I said go, Sherlock. Get out of here now or so help me, I will never forgive you.' The metal barrel of one of the guns touched the doctors skin to tell him to shut up. John turned his head to face the man holding the weapon, 'Go ahead. The gun seems to be shaking slightly so I guess this is the first time for you. Here's a hint. Hold the gun steady and shoot me between the eyes or behind the ear, if you could I would be very grateful.' The weapon was swiftly retracted and Moriarty sent the men away before striding up to his captive,

'Johnny boy, do you have a death wish?' The question was genuine, not even slightly sarcastic or ironic but instead with the slight waver of someone who suddenly realised they didn't have the control they thought they did.

'No. But I know who I care for most out of the two of you. And I know which I would give my life for. Just so you know, Moriarty, it sure as hell would never be you, you psychopathic fuck. Now let Sherlock go. I really don't care what happens to me as I'm already fucked up. To be honest, if you really want you could keep me as the pet you seem to think I am for the rest of my insignificant life because I couldn't give a flying fuck about what happens to me now.' Both the geniuses stared in disbelief. Neither spoke for many minutes. Jim cupped John's face in his hand softly and stroked his cheek with a thumb, the soldier didn't flinch. He didn't do anything. The consulting criminal moved his hand away and turned to the detective.

'Sherlock. My I have a word?' Sherlock replied harshly,

'Yes, you can have several; Go to hell you fucking psycho.' Jim smiled tightly,

'I mean I have a proposal to offer but I would prefer to do it out of the range of certain ears.' The last part of the sentence was said in a whisper, like parents would do when they wanted to talk about something without their children hearing them. The detective's eyes flicked to John in a panic.

'Don't worry, he'll be fine here. I just want to talk with you. Having him with us could…cloud you judgement and we don't want that now, do we?' Sherlock shoulders sagged as he gestured to the door.

* * *

><p>John was left alone in the building as the geniuses walked out of the large door, each still wary of the others presence. The doctor sighed and leant his head back on the wooden chair. He tried to let go of all the stress that had built up inside him from the last few days, his breathing exercises were surprisingly successful considering he was still tied to the fucking chair. The soldier suddenly became aware of the dots that littered his chest,<p>

'Oh, for fucks sake. I know you're there and you have weapons. I mean, seriously, I'm tided to a frigging chair. What the hell am I going to do that could possibly result in me escaping here. The only way out is through the door that your boss is standing right outside of. If you could please not point the fucking weapons at me while those two are out of the room, I'd be much obliged.' The red dots wavered a little then vanished, leaving the doctor seemingly alone. He strained to hear what was being said outside but could only make out the deep voice of Sherlock and the higher Irishman's tones in what seemed like an endless stream of conversation.

He waited, still strapped to the chair, for what seemed like hours before the two men entered the warehouse once more. Both men looked decidedly chipper about something and it put John on edge. Sherlock rushed forward and untied all the restraints on the doctor and pulled him up from the chair. Jim, for his part, stayed a fair distance away from the two men while they got reacquainted.

'Sherlock,' John asked tentatively, 'What the fuck is going on here.' The detective smiled brightly and picked his partner up, carrying him outside in the bridal position. Jim waved cheerfully as they left then turned to his phone, clicking the touch screen in a flurry of activity. The detective nuzzled the doctors neck,

'I'll tell you on the way back to the flat.'

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><p><strong>AN-<strong> I doubt there will be many more chapters from this, most likely two more or ; Please review, it makes my day. Even if it's because you think my work is awful and you think I should stop writing to those who have already commented on this, I'm glad that you've enjoyed it so far.

Bx


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 10: Chapter 9**

A cab picked up the two men from the high street and began the journey back to Baker Street.

'Aren't we going back to the mansion?' A tired John asked when he finally realised they were going the wrong direction.

'No. There would be no point. It's better to go back home.' The doctor nodded then realised something, he seemed to wake up considerably at the thought,

'Ok. So now you can tell me what the fuck just happened. Why did Moriarty let us go?' The detective sighed and unclipped Johns belt before dragging the doctor close to him.

'Well. Jim hasn't actually _let us go _as such. He, that is we, have made a deal.' The detective said, not quite able to meet his flatmates eyes. John felt suddenly colder inside.

'What. Did. You. Do?' The doctor asked through his teeth. Sherlock coughed and squirmed slightly under the soldiers steely gaze.

'It's a long winded deal.' He said, hoping that he could leave it at that. He continued when he realised it was never going to be enough. 'Well, the first bit is that he leaves us alone while you heal. Well, heal physically anyway. That includes anyone under his command.' He paused and John gestured for him to continue, 'Then, when you're all fixed up… well… He's going to pop in for tea and see how you are and then all three of us are going to have a bit of a chat.' The doctor scowled, getting answers from the taller male was becoming a trial.

'And what will this so called _chat_ be about?' He asked, annoyance clear in his voice. Sherlock sighed,

'He's going to raise hell between now and then, and I'm not allowed to intervene with any of his crimes. Then he's going to ask you _the question_.' The detective answered, his mouth twisted unpleasantly at the memory of the conversation. John sat in silence. Part of him wanted to ask what the question, part of him didn't want to know but most of him already knew. He turned to face the streets that whizzed by outside his window as the cab drew closer to Baker street. Even the weather outside seemed to grow heavy with impending doom as he dwelled on what was to come.

* * *

><p>6 weeks later<p>

John looked out at the sun through the window as Sherlock unwrapped the last of the bandages around his torso. At first the doctor had denied the detective any contact with him, especially involving in treatment. For some reason, he felt like if he hid his injuries from Sherlock then the other man wouldn't know either. It was a stupid thought but it seemed to help for a while. By the seventh day, the taller man had somehow slipped past his defences, the way only he knew how, and started helping him. The first few touches were awkward but John soon found that he had relaxed into Sherlock's soft hands, the way he had done many months ago. Somewhere inside him, the last piece of his heart shattered and fell to the bottom of his chest. Now he could only look out at this new London. When Moriarty had said he would raise hell, he really had meant it. 221b Baker Street stood, untouched, in a street full of broken windows, boarded up houses and families afraid to leave the relative safety of their houses. Every night, havoc ran riot through the streets that were still standing. Murders had become such a regular occurrence that the news no longer gave details on the cases but figures on how long the reign of terror had lasted and how long it was set to continue for. True to his word, the psycho hadn't made an appearance and true to his word, Sherlock hadn't taken any cases at all. Much to Lestrades annoyance. He tried to launch another drugs bust to try and get the detective to come back to work but the police car that contained half the force sent to 221b blew up, cause still unknown, and sent a shock that smashed all the windows within a half mile radius. The Scotland Yard didn't try again.

A sleek black car pulled up against the cracked curb. John felt his blood become ice in his veins.

'He's here.' The doctor said in a voice devoid of all emotion. Sherlock's hands automatically tensed against his arm as they waited for the inevitable knock on their door. Each second that slowly ticked by was torturous for both men but finally the polite tap echoed through the silent confines of the room. After a moment, the detective stood and made his way to open the door.

He turned the handle and opened it to see the Irishman stood in his now infamous Westwood suit. (Only a few knew who he actually was but many had seen him stroll the streets and somehow knew that he was part of the horror that they were subject to) He smiled brightly and stepped inside.

'Sherlock, my dear. I had almost began to wonder if you were going to let me in.' He said in his cheerfully high voice. As soon as his eyes met those of the doctor, they brightened and his smile became slightly more genuine,

'Johnny-Boy! How I have missed you. Sherlock, put the kettle on, me and Johnny need to catch up.' Sherlock shot their guest a withering look but went to the kitchen anyway.

No that they were alone-ish, Jim almost skipped up to the doctor and sat on the arm of his chair. He leant into John, who somehow managed not to flinch, and ran his hand through the other mans hair.

'So Johnny. I see you all better now. I bet it's been awful, shut up in this flat for weeks on end. Lets go outside. Get you some fresh air.' Jim pressed his lips against the blonds forehead. John pulled away slightly,

'Uh… Well, Sherlock's making tea so…' It was a crap excuse but the soldiers mind had become helpfully blank so it was all he could come up with. The criminal mastermind's lips drew up into a tight smile and he called back to the detective who was still in the kitchen,

'Sherlock dear, don't bother with the tea, Johnny and I are going for some fresh air.' Sherlock stuck his head into the room and gave John a quick glance. Seeing that the ex army medic hadn't agreed to the little trip he began to fetch his coat. Jim stood up, dragging John with him.

'Did I say you were coming? No, I don't think I did. Stay here, I'll know if you go anywhere.' Sherlock looked as panicked a normal human being would be in the situation, Moriarty couldn't believe what an effect the small man he was holding could be as he was the cause of such a revelation. 'Don't worry, Shirley, I won't steal him away or make him choose while you not there. I want you there when he decides the worlds fate.' Then with a wink, he walked out of the door, pulling the doctor behind him.

* * *

><p>Walking outside, John couldn't help but think of dead London after the War of the Worlds, only that was a story about and alien invasion and his was all because of the man walking beside him. The man who was beaming at the world he had created.<p>

'Do you like it John? It happened because of you, you know.' Jim said, still in his dream like state.

'Don't try to lay this off on me. This was all you. Ruining my life wasn't enough for you, you had to ruin everyone else's too.' John said, he was going to carry on but realised how harsh he sounded and who he was talking to. Jim grabbed his hand and intertwined their fingers,

'Do go on, I love it when your angry.' He said as he brought his other hand round to grip the doctors arm. John sighed in defeat and the criminal mastermind instinctively knew that the blond had made up his mind. They turned round and headed back for 221b Baker Street. From somewhere behind them, shots rang out. John turned to the psycho, who raised his shoulders.

'They're not mine, Johnny-Boy. I've called holt on everything as soon as I heard you had healed.' For some reason, John believed him and he turned to the gunshots which seemed to creep closer with every passing second. Jim clicked a few buttons on the phone in his pocket but John didn't notice, he was too busy watching the gang of people that made their way towards them. On voice rang out clear above the rest and it was one voice the doctor didn't think he would ever hear again. Anderson, deceased in a car bomb four weeks ago according to records, stood facing the two men.

'This is the psycho that destroyed your homes and why? Because of that man standing next to him. You heard what he said. If we get rid of the cause, then we can get rid of the effect.' John stared in disbelief, forget what he had said before in the forensic detectives defence, the man was an idiot. The raged gang seemed to agree with him, however; and they aimed the weapons. John turned round, grabbing Jim's hand and fled down the streets. As soon as they turned a corner, a hailstorm of bullets rained down on the mob from the hidden snipers Moriarty had positioned on the rooftops. He knew that he was safe but that didn't stop the soldier from running all the way back to the flat.

* * *

><p>Sherlock waited at the door, he embraced John warmly-the way lovers would after a long time apart would- and stepped aside to usher the two men back into the flat. Jim's phone beeped once and he checked the screen before allowing the briefest lift of a smile to grace his otherwise clear expression. John sat in his chair and looked at the two men, the two geniuses in their own rights. He massaged the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. When he opened his eyes again, the two consultants were sat next to each other on the sofa, each with the same impatient look in their eyes. Moriarty eventually spoke,<p>

' Ok Johnny-Boy, If you come with me now and I will stop all of this, I'll even help put things right. If not then, I think you know what will happen.' The doctor closed his eyes and took a deep breath, he knew what he wanted to say. He also knew what he would say, the fact that they were different answers torn him up inside.

'Can I say goodbye?' He asked defeated. Jim nodded once, and left the room. It didn't matter now, he'd won.

* * *

><p>Sherlock opened his arms and John couldn't help but sink into them. His worries seemed to evaporate and he was filled with something he hadn't felt in such a long time and he doubted he would ever feel again.<p>

'I'm so sorry Sherlock. This is all my fault.' He whispered into the other mans shoulder. At this he was pulled back to that the detective could look into his eyes.

'This is not your fault, it never was. Don't ever think like that, John, it was me. I was stupid and careless and now I've lost you.' Sherlock's voice, despite his best efforts, cracked. John smiled sadly and shook his head,

'No, you've not lost me Sherlock. You have the one thing that Moriarty will never own. You have my heart, it is in pieces and doesn't work anymore but it is still yours.' At this, the detective also smiled, though John knew it was for his benefit and not the genuine thing. Jim coughed impatiently at the door and John took a step back.

'Goodbye, Sherlock Holmes. Worlds only consulting detective.' John said as he turned to the door. Sherlock remained silent. The door clicked softly to tell him that he was now alone, the edges of his mouth twitched upward. _No, I'm not alone. I'll never be alone again. _In his mind, Doctor John smiled and waved at him then set to work, after all, the world's police force still needed a consulting detective, whether he liked it or not.

THE END

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><p><strong>AN-<strong> This was an absolute nightmare to write. I had a happy ending but it didn't fit in with the rest so here is a happy-ish ending instead. Please let me know what you think to it. (Basically: review)

Bx


	11. AN

**AN- Hey, everyone. I've decided that I'm going to put the happier ending up as an alternate ending. It make take a while because my computer's a bitch, so sorry in advance. Keep reviewing!**

**B  
><strong>**x**


	12. Chapter 9 Happy version

**AN-** Ok, this is the happy ending. I still don't think it fits in with the rest of the story but there you go.

Enjoy  
>x<p>

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><p>A cab picked up the two men from the high street and began the journey back to Baker Street.<p>

'Aren't we going back to the mansion?' A tired John asked when he finally realised they were going the wrong direction.

'No. There would be no point. It's better to go back home.' The doctor nodded then realised something, he seemed to wake up considerably at the thought,

'Ok. So now you can tell me what the fuck just happened. Why did Moriarty let us go?' The detective sighed and unclipped Johns belt before dragging the doctor close to him.

'Well. Jim hasn't actually _let us go _as such. He, that is we, have made a deal.' John felt suddenly colder inside.

'What. Did. You. Do?' He asked. Sherlock didn't answer for a moment, he coughed slightly.

'I bought us some time.' The detective said in a low whisper. John raised an eyebrow but was to weary to push the matter any further. He rested his head on the taller male and drifted between reality and the dream realm that sprang from his bouts of unconsciousness.

* * *

><p>When the doctor came back to his senses, he found himself in his own bed in that flat. He almost wondered if it had all been a dream but Soldier John mentally slapped him and told him to get up. He guessed good things just didn't happen to him anymore. With a groan, the doctor sat up. No sooner had he done so, did Sherlock rush through the door, a worried look badly concealed by a smile twisting his features. The detective opened his mouth but John cut him off, stopping the comforting lie which was just about to be spewed from the other man's lips.<p>

'We've both been through enough for you to know that molly-coddling me will get either of us anywhere. Now tell me what the hell is going on.' He snapped. Sherlock didn't even look taken back by the harsh words, not that John expected him to, instead he just sighed and moved forward wearily to sit on the end of the bed.

'You've been out cold for about two and a half days. In that time there have been some… changes to Baker Street, well to the world really but Baker Street is the bit you'll notice.' John sat up too quickly and hissed in pain..

'What has happened?' He gasped, swinging his legs out of bed and trying to stand up only to find his legs were to weak to support him and he flopped back down again.

'I think it's best for you to… Not find out for a while. Stress won't help your recovery.' His flatmate replied. The soldier glared at him.

'Sherlock Holmes. I have lived in hell for the past three months, my every movement is agony and so help me I will see what damage I have caused now take me to the window.' Sherlock's reply was overpowered by a thunderous explosion from outside. John curled in on himself, hugging his knees tightly and tearing open the wounds on his back. Once his ears had stopped ringing, he stared at his flatmate who, after thinking about it for a moment, helped him to stand and half dragged him to the window.

* * *

><p>John blinked, not quite believing what his eyes were seeing. Baker Street hadn't just changed, it was completely destroyed. The ruined remains of the houses opposite smouldered and smoked. The road looked like multiple earthquakes had torn into it in quick succession, rendering it a mass of jagged concrete jutting out in every angle. The destruction wasn't localised either. John pressed himself closer to the window to look down the street. Their house was the only one untouched. He felt dread freeze up his insides and he found himself taking a steadying breath before turning back to Sherlock.<p>

'What deal did you make with him?' He asked, the horror not quite seeping into his voice.

'I said that he could do what he wanted until the time you woke up, then he could come and pick you up. In fact, I think he's here now.' The detective replied quietly. John looked puzzled, it seemed that when Sherlock said 'bought us some time' he actually meant it. And here he was thinking that the man actually had a plan. His flatmate figured out what he was thinking and his smile dropped completely.

'I'm sorry, John. It was all I could do.' He whispered, knowing that he had let his doctor down again. _You seem to be doing that a lot as of late. _His brain sneered.

* * *

><p>The two men made their way downstairs and John just sat in his armchair when he heard the inevitable knock at the door. After a moment, the detective stood and made his way to the entrance as if he were walking into a dragons lair.<p>

He turned the handle slowly and opened it to see the Irishman stood in his now infamous Westwood suit. (Only a few knew who he actually was but many had seen him stroll the streets and somehow knew that he was part of the horror that they were subject to) He smiled brightly and stepped inside.

'Sherlock, my dear. I had almost began to wonder if you were going to let me in.' He said in his cheerfully high voice. As soon as his eyes met those of the doctor, they brightened and his smile became slightly more genuine,

'Johnny-Boy! How I have missed you. Sherlock, put the kettle on, me and Johnny need to catch up.' Sherlock shot their guest a withering look but went to the kitchen anyway.

No that they were alone-ish, Jim almost skipped up to the doctor and sat on the arm of his chair. He leant into John, who somehow managed not to flinch, and ran his hand through the other mans hair.

'I know it's only been a few days but it feels like an eternity, Johnny-love. It took all my strength not to just pick you up while you were a sleep but a promise is a promise, I guess. Well, I'll give you a minute to say goodbye to Shirley then we must be going. We have a busy schedule, you know.' Moriarty said, pulling the soldier up and pushing him toward his soon to be ex-flatmate. Sherlock placed the cups down on the table and welcomed the blond doctor into his arms. John felt his skin crawl at the contact but he pushed the feelings away.

'Right right, that's enough pet.' Jim called, clearly getting annoyed. The soldier pulled away to look the detective in the face.

'I'm sorry.' He whispered then turned round to face the consulting criminal who smiled cheerily and half dragged him out of the room.

* * *

><p><em>six weeks later<em>

John sat knelt next to Jim, who was sat in his favourite chair in the meeting room, listening intently to the latest group who wanted him to help them. The doctor had listened up to the point where they had said 'Kidnap' then he'd switched off completely. The criminal kept his right hand planted firmly in the doctors hair, as if the man would disappear the moment he let go.

'I see. And you want my help because?' The Irishman asked, waving his other hand lazily. The closest man coughed quietly.

'Well, we were rather hoping that, with your experience, you'd be able to help us conduct the task. We've got it planned out but, as you can probably gather, we don't want to get caught.' He replied nervously. Jim smiled and turned to his pet, twisting the man's head to face him.

'What do you think, Johnny, should I help them?' He asked sweetly. The soldier kept his gaze steady.

'Sure, you don't have anything else on at the moment.' He answered calmly, it wasn't the first time that the psycho had asked his opinion on business. John usually chose the answer which kept Moriarty most occupied, for obvious reasons. Jim nodded and lifted his eyes to those of the group again.

'Who is it you wish to kidnap?' The criminal asked in interest, well it had to be someone of semi-importance for them to bother him.

'That piece-of-shit inspector at Scotland Yard, Lestrade.' The male at the back spoke up. John froze, of course the group wouldn't notice but Moriarty certainly did and he chuckled.

'Oh pet, did that strike a nerve?' He cooed, stroking the blond hair lightly. 'My pet and I will have a little conversation now, I'll contact you when we've finished, out you go.' The Irishman said to the group. They each gave their hurried thanks and exited as quickly as possible.

As soon as they were alone, John was hoisted up onto the criminals lap.

'Now I could be persuaded to decline these people-' Jim started, kissing the blonds' tanned neck. '-given a good enough reason.' He finished. The soldier flicked out the gun he'd snagged from the guard on his way in.

'Is this a good enough reason?' He asked, pressing the cold metal to the psycho's chest. The consulting criminal's face was the picture of shock right up until the point where he laughed. The soldier's puzzlement flashed across his features.

'Oh pet, of course I knew you had the weapon. I was just wondering if you had the balls to use it.' The psychopath answered, stroking the doctors legs seductively. 'Well go on then, shoot me. You know all my passwords, dear, you even keep my phone and send texts for me. Why do you think I did that?' The criminal asked. John eyed him warily.

'Because that's what I did for Sherlock and there is no way I'd be able to use your passwords without you finding out in less than a second.' He answered, voice shaking with disbelief. Jim raised an eyebrow.

'No darling, I knew it was only a matter of time before I was killed and you're such an obedient prodigy, I had hoped you would be the one to off me.' He sighed. John kept the gun to the criminals chest but for some reason his finger refused to pull the trigger. Jim smiled eerily at him for a minute before taking hold of the weapon and throwing it down. The window shattered and Moriarty slumped. The doctor in John's mind took over and he was laying the consulting criminal carefully, trying to stem the blood which was gushing from the Irishman's shoulder. Jim laughed incessantly, babbling random nonsense in-between rasping breaths. An armed squad burst into the room, guns all pointed on the criminal. The doctor glared at them.

'Get an ambulance.' He growled. The squad looked on, unmoving. 'Oh, so you've been given the order to let him die have you? Well that's fine I guess.' John hissed, fishing the a small gun out of Moriarty's pocket and placing it to his own temple. 'Let me make this easier for you. If he dies, I die. Got that?' He snapped. The squad looked at each other before one called for an ambulance.

* * *

><p>John didn't remove the gun until Jim was out of the operating theatre and in a stable condition. He sat facing the psychopath but clearly apart, they weren't touching in any way. The heart monitor beeped steadily, lulling anyone in the room into a haze. Sherlock stood by the door, protective of his friend but unable to make the steps closer. After all, it was John who had saved the worthless life form on the hospital bed, they could have just let him die. Sherlock wished his doctor had just let him die. John had watched the entire operation so there hadn't even been a chance to slip something in, make it look like an accident.<p>

The beeping pattern changed slightly and the criminals eyes fluttered before opening fully, blinking in the bright hospital lights. They were in a private room, guarded by at least three armed soldiers at any one time. His eyes fell on the blond doctor and his mouth curled up in a smile.

'You saved my life, Johnny-Boy.' He rasped, beaming.

'Don't flatter yourself, you evil little shit.' John replied with a look of utter disgust. Sherlock raised an eyebrow from the corner of the room but didn't say anything. Jim's smile never faltered.

'Then why am I here, pet, I should have died back there. Our lovely Holmes brothers had signed my death warrant.' The criminal croaked, his voice almost giving up from exhaustion. John scowled at Sherlock then turned back.

'They clearly didn't think it through then.' He growled. Now it was Jims turn to raise an eyebrow.

'Go on, sweetie, tell us why you saved me.' He cooed, voice still strained. The doctor huffed but replied anyway.

'If they killed you then someone would take your place. With you, it was all for fun, you're evil and psychopathic but you were never after world domination, or world destruction. For Moriarty mark 2, we could never be sure.' The doctor explained. The Irishman turned his smile onto Sherlock.

'See, Shirley, Johnny-Boy thinks more than you give him credit for.' He chuckled, then gasped in pain and glared at his own shoulder for hurting him.

* * *

><p>Moriarty was transferred to a high security detention centre which John visited every other day, always accompanied by Sherlock of course. After the visit, the doctor and the detective made their way home in one of Mycroft's cars and would spend the rest of the day huddled on the sofa. Lestrade sometimes popped round to see how they were doing, he would always leave a case for Sherlock just in case he felt like helping. The soldier disappeared to his room for about half an hour every few days without any explanation as to what he was doing. Finally, the curiosity was too much for the detective and he crept up to Johns room, pressing his ear to the door.<p>

'No, it's not ok, you get the money into the back account by the end of the day or I will use force. It would be such a shame to see a nice plan go to waste but it would just about cover my services.' The soldier growled threateningly down the phone. Sherlock creaked the door open and stepped inside. John saw him with wide eyes. 'Money by the end of the day.' He snapped then disconnected.

'John.. But.' Sherlock stuttered. The doctor place Moriarty's phone in his pocket and put his hands up in surrender.

'It's not what it looks like.' He said.

'Well you best tell me what the hell is going on then.' His flatmate hissed. John took a breath.

'I'm using the organisation to fix the damage but I can't do that by being nice to the clients. Since no one knows that Moriarty is in prison and most people have never actually met him, it works well. As long as I act slightly psycho.' The doctor said, his face broke into a sheepish smile. Sherlock stared for a moment then smiled too.

'You have to be the most insane person I have ever met.' The detective laughed. 'You're using a criminal organisation to sort the damage that a psycho did because he couldn't have you as a pet.' He summarized. John smiled brightly,

'Like you have any right to speak, Mr Sociopath.' He replied, barely controlling the mirth in his voice. With that, the Baker Street boys cascaded down into an uncontrollable mess of laughter, the start of a new life for the both of them.

THE END

* * *

><p><strong>AN-<strong> Yay! Mushy happy stuff. So... what do you all think? Happy ending or the first ending?

Oh, and sorry this one is so much longer than the other.

B  
>x<p> 


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